


In Plain Sight

by ugh_i_dont_know



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Bucky Barnes's Trigger Words, Dissociation, Flashbacks, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Procedures, Memory Loss, Newspapers, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Steve Rogers, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Publicity, Recovery, References to Depression, Sassy Bucky Barnes, Sassy Sam Wilson, Sassy Steve Rogers, Social Media, Suicidal Thoughts, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-11-13 03:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18024146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ugh_i_dont_know/pseuds/ugh_i_dont_know
Summary: “This would have been easier a week ago.” Sam had said as he and Steve had gone over their options in the abandoned factory outside of Berlin just after Bucky Barnes—the Winter Soldier—has dispersed information of 5 other soldiers, just like him, but worse, hidden away in a Siberian bunker…But what if it was a week ago? How much would change if Steve had found Bucky in Bucharest a week before all of it. Lagos, the Accords, Peggy, Vienna, the airport, and worst of all, Siberia.





	1. Chapter 1

April 25th, 2016.

Steve found it difficult to hide the mild disgust he felt as he climbed the interior stairs of a beaten down apartment building smack down in the middle of Bucharest, Romania. It smelled of mildew and the skylight from above only served to show the dust in the air. Even the muted, salmon-pink walls seemed to want to escape the space as paint peeled off in layers stretching down, in some places, all the way to the floor. The one time Steve had tried to use the hand rail, it had screeched at him in complaint. He hadn’t touched it again.

The deepest parts of his mind hoped the lead he’d received was false if only so that Bucky wouldn’t have been living in such conditions. Granted it was only a small piece.

He’d lost count of how many flights he’d climbed after the eighth. It was the second to last apartment in the entire climb that had the correct numbers.

20-03.  

This was it.

His hands were shaking. “I’m here, Sam.”

“Got it. I’m in position. Watch yourself.” Sam replied. His position was on the roof of a neighboring building with a good view of the side doors noted in their original scout of the apartment. He was on standby in case Bucky wasn’t happy to see him or if he tried to run. They wouldn’t force him into going with them, but Steve did want to talk. He’d chosen civvies over the Captain America uniform in hopes that it would appear friendlier.

He wiped his hands across the thighs of his jeans to dry them before taking a breath and knocking on the door. Silence. He tried listening for any shuffling, but there was nothing—not even from other apartments. He knocked again.

“Anything, Sam?”

A moment before, “Not so far. I haven’t seen any movement.”

Steve pulled the paper from his pocket to confirm the apartment number—as if he hadn’t already memorized it on the way there—and looked around the four by fifteen concrete slab that made up the walk way as if Bucky would appear out of nowhere. There was nothing there.

“Sam-“

The door behind him interrupted him. He spun on his heal as it opened and his heart caught in his throat as he saw Bucky standing there in the half-open doorway of apartment 20-03. Bucky looked better than Steve had expected. He was wearing a navy blue shirt and a jacket and some jeans. He looked like he’d been eating well and the rings beneath his eyes weren’t so prominent to make him believe that he hadn’t been sleeping at least most of the time.

Steve swallowed, “Hi.”

Bucky didn’t respond. He didn’t move.

Steve could feel the tension leaking from his posture. “Do you know me?”

Bucky’s eyes flickered just slightly as he answered. “You’re Steve… Captain America.” He said. “I read about you in a museum.”

“Do you know who you are?” he asked, praying the hope in his voice didn’t scare him off.

Bucky’s jaw tightened and he changed the subject, “What do you want.”

“I’ve been looking for you-.”

“Why.” Bucky emphasized the word, his voice ever slightly louder than previously.

Steve didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t know what Bucky wanted to hear.

Just as quickly as the apparent sternness had shown up, it withered slightly as Bucky looked nervously to the staircase and up to the skylight before dropping his gaze back on Steve.

Oh.

“No!” Steve said too loudly as his hands rose as if to show they were empty and free of tricks, “I mean, I’m not here to take you away or make you do anything you don’t want to do.” He struggled to find the right words, “I…I just wanna talk… Sam is outside, but he’ll stay there as long as we’re here. We didn’t know what… state you’d be in. I’ve been looking for you for so long, Buck. Please just…” He trailed off.

Bucky looked at him skeptically for what felt like forever before glancing back into the apartment and stepping back to hold the door open wider. Steve smiled gratefully as he walked past Bucky and into the apartment.

It was quiet as Steve looked around. While the space was not much larger than a studio and was obviously old, it was tidy. Nothing was on the ground or appeared overly out of place. The twin mattress and sleeping bag in one corner seemed to be recently slept in and the couch had a hoodie strewn across one corner, but clean, mismatching dishes were stacked neatly by the sink and the few cooking utensils Bucky appeared to own were gathered in a cut off milk jug. A newspaper with a half-finished Sudoku laying on a rickety table. Shelves made from wood panels and cinder bricks beneath a water-ruined hole in the wall. A half full glass of orange juice beside an electric stove.

Steve turned back to see Bucky staring at him as he examined the room. He smiled, “Nice place.”

Bucky didn’t respond. Steve hoped it hadn’t come off as sarcastic. Maybe in 1940, it would have been fine, but now where this was all Bucky could do to survive. It wasn’t appropriate.

“Um… So, how have you been? You look great.”

Bucky’s jaw set and his eyes narrowed into a small glare. “Cut the bullshit, Rogers. What do you want?”

Steve’s smile quirked a little. That profane bluntness was all Sergeant Barnes of the 107th coming through. He sighed and his smile faded. “When they found me in the ice and I woke up in New York, I’d suddenly lost 70 years and everyone I knew was either gone or… on their way out. Look, I don’t know what you remember-if you remember anything at all, but… I knew you… before. I don’t care if you’re not the same as you were or if you’re a spinning image, but I want to know you again. I just want…” he struggled a moment for the right word before settling on the only one that seemed right, “you…”

It was silent. Bucky stared at him with a slightly softer and more confused expression than the glare he had been shooting earlier. Steve said nothing. He didn’t want to interrupt any processing Bucky needed to go through.

After several long moments, Bucky sighed and his flesh hand came up to rub at his neck. “Gotta say, you’ve gotten a lot cheesier in the past century.”

Steve’s eyes watered and his lips turned up in a smile as he chuckled wetly and nodded, “I blame the media, honestly.”

Bucky’s lip quirked up halfway into a smile too as Steve stepped forward to give him a hug that was hesitantly returned, but long awaited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, thank you for reading. I will not be following a specific posting schedule, but I thank anyone willing to stick around for the next chapter. Let me know what you think of this concept in the comments. I thought of the line that sparked this story about a month ago and have been searching the internet for a fic based on it. I don't think anyone else has used this--at least not that I could find, (and if someone has, TELL ME, because I would love to read it,)--so I'm excited to get the idea out of my head. This will not be my first time writing fanfiction, but it will be my first time posting for the Marvel Universe.  
> Let me know if you see any errors.  
> I hope you liked it and I will see you next time.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve got a hotel with Sam that evening and met up with Bucky again the next morning. Bucky took him to Parcul Natural Văcărești, a natural land park that was about a 10 minute walk from Bucky’s apartment. The park was mostly inaccessible by the populous and as they walked to the opening, Steve wondered about the fluidity behind Bucky’s movements. He was comfortable. Did that mean he came here often?

They passed over a graffiti-littered cement dam and Bucky led the way along a trail that was hidden beneath tall overgrowth. Steve was too busy keeping track of his feet that it wasn’t until several minutes into the trek that Steve noticed the quiet and serenity of the location.

“What is this place?” Steve asked.

Bucky glanced back at him, but didn’t stop, “It was cleared during the Soviet reign—I wanna say 1960s. It was supposed to be a recreational area and sports field. They cleared old buildings and built the dam, but when it got to be too expensive, everyone just stopped working on it because they weren’t getting paid. Then the government fell, and no one really knew what to do with it because by that time it had begun to fill with ponds and plants again.”

Steve took a look around at the wildlife, the wetlands, and the plants. “It doesn’t seem like the kind of place you’d expect to grow in the middle of Europe.”

“Right. Turns out those dams they built were causing rainfall to sink into the ground at such a quantity that, after years of being basically left alone, the environment evolved into a wetland.”

“And nobody knows about it?” Steve asked.

“No, most people do. It’s just hard to get to and the entrance is a bit hidden. I hear the GD is gonna establish it soon. Everyone already treats it like that anyway, but it'll be—you know, official.”

“Oh, well, that’s nice.”

Bucky stopped beneath some trees at the shore of one of the ponds. Ducks quacked and paddled and waded. Bugs buzzed and the pollen in the air smelled of moss and spring water lily. The sky was so blue. It was peaceful.

“I come here all the time.” Bucky said as he stared out at the view. “It’s quiet. Helps me think.”

Steve sat down on a fallen log beneath the shade and watched as Bucky seemed to let the tension melt from his shoulders.

“You know, it’s funny.” Bucky said and looked back at Steve with a half-smile, “You’d think the city would be the place for me because it’s so much like Brooklyn, but I’ve never seen anything quite like this.” He looked back to the pond.

“What all do you remember of Brooklyn?” Steve asked.

Bucky’s lips quirked into an imitation of a smile, “Not much.” The smile dropped, “Enough. I get memories all the time, it just depends on whether that memory is of the 70 years with Hydra or the 25 back in Brooklyn.”

Steve rehearsed the words he’d been wanting to say in his head one last time and said them. “Buck,” it caught his attention and he looked to Steve. “Will you come with me back to the compound?”

Bucky’s jaw clenched and he turned back to the pond. Steve waited. He wouldn’t push for an immediate answer.

Eventually, Bucky sighed, “I don’t know Steve. I’m not the same person you knew in 1940-.”

“I know that.”

Bucky looked to him with a gaze that said not to interrupt him, “And you’re not the only person there.”

“They wouldn’t see you any different.” Steve said. “The people I work with—the Avengers—they aren’t perfect either. We have ex-assassins, ex-Hydra, ex-Shield. Not one person on that team is perfect. No one is. Come with me, Buck.”

“I don’t know.” Bucky crossed his arms across his chest as he turned back. “I’ve been able to have a life here, Steve. I have a job. An apartment. I don’t know that I can just uproot that all of a sudden. I don’t know that I want to.”

Steve nodded, “I understand.”

Tension seeped into the peacefulness that had been occupying the space. Steve sighed. This isn’t how he wanted to leave this area.

“Can I least come and visit you?”

Bucky looked back to him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, come by whenever you’re in the area. I’ll let you buy the drinks.”

Steve chuckled, “I can’t get drunk.”

“Well, neither can I.” Bucky smiled along. “It’s about the act, not the result.”

“Touché.”

~~~~~

When they got back to Bucky’s apartment, Bucky began to pull together lunch for them.

“I hope you like meatball soup.” Bucky said as he pulled out a large pot from the fridge and began portioning it into a smaller, medium sized pot.

“I don’t think I’ve tried it before.”

“Well, you can try it now. Now and every other time you visit for the rest of eternity.” He put the large pot back into the fridge after covering it with a lid then moved the medium pot onto the electric stove to heat it up.

“How come?” Steve asked as he took a seat on the stool beside the island.

“My neighbor beneath me is an old widow that loves to cook. She makes up a pot of meatball soup for me every week because when I first moved in and she invited me for dinner, I complimented it and said it was great. Now she thinks it’s my favorite food and I can’t tell her that I’m sick of it.”

Steve laughed out loud as Bucky pulled a spoon out of the milk jug to stir the soup around.

“Shut up. Fortunately, I’ve found adding cheese or Tabasco helps gives it a bit of variety. I tried it with crushed crackers once and that was good, too.”

“So you’ve been eating meatball soup for how long?” Steve wheezed and his cheeks felt hot.

Bucky smirked sarcastically at him and shook his head, “Breakfast, lunch, and dinner almost every day for the last eight months.”

Steve laughed at him and Bucky chuckled along. “Yeah, yeah. Yack it up. Why do you think I’m feeding it to you? Every bowl you eat is one I don’t have to.”

Steve was still giggling quietly by the time the soup was hot enough to be served. It smelled amazing. Bucky dished out two bowls and passed one off to Steve. It tasted different than he’d expected. There was a sour tang that complimented the tomatoes and carrots and the meatballs had what tasted—and felt—like rice inside.

“You don’t like this?” Steve asked as he shuffled the spoon to his mouth again.

“Oh, no, I did, at least the first time I tried it. Back then I was lucky to get food once a day let alone three whole meals.” Steve frowned at him and Bucky waved it off. “The first month or two was amazing. It’s the repetition that gets to you.”

Steve raised his eyebrows tauntingly, “If you come with me, I’ll get you a steak.”

“But if I do,” The return was pouty and held a tense smile, even as he looked down to his bowl. “Who would bunică give all of her meatball soup to?”

It was quiet for several seconds before Steve apologized. He looked down to his bowl too, but wasn’t very hungry anymore.

Bucky took a deep breath and shook his head, “It’s not that I don’t want to go with you, Steve. I do. I really do.” Steve looked up to meet his eyes and Bucky looked away. “I guess,” he sighed, “I don’t trust myself to be around people I care about yet.”

“Buck, other than being on full lock up, the safest place on earth is with people who have the means to stop you if something were to happen.” Steve said. “The people at the compound have been limited to the Avengers. A staff comes in once a week for a couple hours to clean and restock, but other than that, it’s miles away from major cities and it’s large enough to keep you busy. It’s safe.”

When Bucky looked back to him, he looked so sad and confused, it made Steve’s chest hurt.

Bucky didn’t speak.

Steve continued. “What happens if something were to happen here? You’re worried about losing control or whatever it is. How does that affect the people in this building? The old lady? Who is capable of stopping you?” He knew he was playing a low blow, but he wanted Bucky with him and if imagining scenarios in which he wasn’t with him was what would push Bucky to go with him, then he’d do it because Bucky would have done that for him.

Bucky looked down to his lap. His brows were furrowed and his breathing off from earlier. When he looked back up, his face was stoic. “Can I think about it?”

“Of course.” Steve said. “It’s your choice. I just wanted to make sure you were choosing for the right reasons. If the only thing keeping you here is because you’re afraid of hurting me, then you need a better reason. ‘Cause I’m a lot more capable of taking a punch than the old lady downstairs.”

It was a weird atmosphere that surrounded them the rest of the afternoon. Steve helped Bucky with the dishes after lunch and got to meet the neighborhood cat when he meowed at the outer door for food. Steve left around two with plans to see Bucky again the next afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!  
> Thank you for reading. Let me know what you think and don't forget to notify me of any spelling or grammatical errors I missed.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Steve arrived the next afternoon, Bucky had made up his mind and started packing some of his things. Steve beamed when told and, after calling Sam to bring a car, helped Bucky pack his belongings into the old fruit boxes Bucky had scrounged up from his neighbors. Steve took the job of carrying things out while Bucky packed. 

Bucky chewed on the corner of his lip as he folded up the tabs to the final box. He hadn’t had that much to take with him. He left his mattress and the furniture, hoping someone would have use for them. His cooking utensils, clothes, and miscellaneous items had all been shoved into a measly two boxes.  

He set the box down on the couch and went to pull the floor boards by the fridge up. Steve walked back in as he grabbed his backpack and replaced the wood.  

“You ready?” Steve asked as he walked back in the door and picked up the box Bucky had left. Bucky slid his arms into the straps of his backpack and grabbed his jacket and rolled sleeping bag from the couch.  

Steve smiled and together, they left the room. 

After dropping off his jacket and sleeping bag in Sam’s rental car, Bucky met his landlord in his office. They spoke shortly of the situation and the remaining time on the lease before Bucky returned the keys.  

“Noroc.” The elderly man smiled warmly at Bucky. _Good luck._

Bucky nodded, “Mulţumesc.” _Thank you._

He had tried to speak with bunică before Steve had arrived, but she’d been out, so he slid a note under the door explaining what had happened with a scribble of Steve’s number and a thank you for the meatball soup at the bottom.  

Steve had already gotten in the car with Sam by the time Bucky got back. He climbed into the back seat. 

”Buckled up?” Steve asked as he started the ignition. 

”Nope.” Bucky popped the P and leaned back in the seat. 

”It’s the law, Buck. Put it on.” 

”Maybe in America, but it’s not here, so you’re gonna shut your mouth and get driving before I—” 

”Bucky.” Steve sighed and Bucky could have sworn he heard Sam chuckle from the passenger’s seat. ”What if we get in a crash?” 

“If I haven’t died yet, a car crash ain’t gonna do it. Now would you go?” 

Steve switched the car into gear with an exasperated shake of his head and a mumbled, “I forgot how much of an ass you are,” as he drove off. 

It took nearly an hour with the Sunday afternoon traffic. When they got to the airport, they drove into a private sector and to a sleek jet with “STARK Industries” written in bold black letters across the side.  

Steve and Sam got out of the car immediately and Bucky followed a moment later. Two men wearing black suits and sunglasses came out to carry Bucky’s belongings onto the plane while Steve spoke with a man appearing to be the pilot. The suited men came back and offered to take the things in Bucky’s arms, but Bucky only stared silently until they got the message.  

Steve called Bucky over to head into the plane shortly after. The inside was modern and clean with ivory, leather seats and hot-rod-red accents. Steve sat down in an aisle seat at the front of the plane only to move spots when Bucky continued until he’d reached the window seat at the back of the plane. Sam sat across the aisle from them.  

Though the initial take off was a bit panic-rising for Bucky, the remainder was fairly quiet, with attendants bringing them drinks and snacks. Bucky didn’t eat or drink anything given to him and eventually, they stopped trying.  

Steve filled the silence by talking about what to expect at the compound and things Steve wanted to show him. He mentioned Peggy Carter in passing. How she remembered things on occasion, but some days were better than others. Bucky almost wanted to say that he was much the same, but didn’t. He and Sam commented on something Steve said every once in a while, but Steve mainly held the conversation. Eventually the topic switched to the difference between upstate New York and the city.  

“Oh and Brooklyn is different,” Steve was saying, “but our apartment is still there.  

Bucky rested his chin on his fist, “I know.” 

Steve trailed off half way through his next sentence about it being turned into a museum and looked over to Bucky. “You know?” 

Bucky nodded. Sam stayed silent.  

“I went there a couple months after Project Insight.” 

Steve blinked then smiled, “You think we’d be able to convince them to sell it back to us?” 

“Hell, no. Not with the profit it brings in.” Bucky scoffed. “Besides, I don’t wanna move back into that ratty old place. Though it’s better than it was 75 years ago.” 

Sam perked up at that, “You mean it’s different?” 

Steve turned to him. “It didn’t have any of the amenities it has now. The bathroom is completely new. When we were there the entire building used communal washrooms. Looks like they added in water and electricity and probably heat to. It’s more closed up than before too. They put up the wall that splits the kitchen and bedroom. Other than that, it’s not much different, though.” 

Bucky’s brows furrowed and he looked to Steve. “Not much different? Steve, the only thing they got right in it is the medicine cabinet.” Even that had probably been only a replica. The water-ruined wood and creaky doors with mirror paneling had been in their last years when the two had lived there seven decades ago. 

“Really?” Steve asked. 

“Yeah, really. Did the ice mess up your brain or something?” Bucky said sarcastically, crossing his arms across his chest. 

Sam chuckled and Steve deflated. “In my defense, I had an astigmatism and was color blind back then.” 

“So what did it really look like?” Sam asked. 

Bucky looked to him and chewed his bottom lip. His eyes trailed to the floor as the memories flashed behind his eyes of the ratty studio apartment that he’d worked day and night some months to keep.  

“It had this ugly green wall paper with a leafy design…” He said, speaking as things came to mind. “There was a mildew smell we couldn’t ever get rid of—the roofs back then weren't built to withstand flooding.” 

He could almost smell it now and his nose scrunched in distaste.  

“In the winter, we’d move the bed over by the stove ‘cause we found if you set old newspapers on fire inside, it’d keep warmer than anywhere else… and—the window used to have a tarp over it ‘cause I worked the night shift near the end there. Oh, and—uh—Steve’s drawin’s covered the walls from top to bottom.” He blew out a laugh, “We’s use ta stick ‘em up with old gum. Tha’s probably why the wallpaper was scrapped.” 

Bucky was still smiling when he looked up to see Steve smiling back and Sam with an arched brow. The smile dimmed and he cleared his throat.  

“Man, you sounded like you were from Brooklyn just there.” Sam said.  

Bucky scoffed, “I am from Brooklyn.” 

Steve took over the conversation again, contrasting modern Brooklyn with what he remembered of 1940s Brooklyn. Bucky commented here and there, but fell into a light dose shortly after.  

He woke up to Steve calling his name and the jostling of the plane landing. It was disorienting to feel like it was the middle of the night, but to see the sun clearly high in the sky.  

Steve and Sam helped him carry his boxes off the plane and into a black car. It was nearly twenty minutes before they were away from the city, surrounded by heavy woods, and another twenty before they were turning onto a dirt road. In total, Bucky tallied nearly an hour from the time they landed at the airport before the car pulled into a valley, surrounded by trees, and with the compound in the center. Bucky stared at the modern architecture that made up the facility.  

Steve brought the car around to a garage door and parked. The Black Widow stood waiting for them as they got out of the car. 

“Natasha,” Steve greeted, smiling wide and looking at Bucky almost as if to say, ‘look who I found! Can you believe it?!’ 

Bucky ignored it as he and Sam grabbed the boxes from the car. Steve had always had the personality of a hyper puppy. Over excitable and loyal to a fault. It was often better if you didn’t give it too much attention.  

“Steve,” Natasha acknowledged before turning her attention to Bucky. Steve took the box from him as he came around the car.  

“Natalia,” Bucky greeted, allowing a sickeningly familiar Russian accent to coat his words.  

Natasha smirked slightly as she spoke, "Рад снова тебя видеть."  _Good to see you again._  

Bucky didn’t respond. ‘Good’ was a bad term for every other time they’d met.  

When he only stared awkwardly, she continued. "Что я должен позвонить вам?"  _What should I call you?_  

"Просто Баки." He adjusted his backpack and glanced to Steve.  _Just Bucky._  

“What’d I miss?” Sam asked, glancing between the two.  

Natasha turned her signature smirk to Sam shortly before turning around. “Follow me.” 

Steve shrugged at Sam in response as they obeyed her order.  

“Stark said he’d fly up here sometime in the next few days; wants to make sure you’re not being too frisky, but most likely that means he misses you. Until then, I’ll show you around and help you get settled.” 

Natasha led them up a set of stairs, glancing at Steve and Sam as she spoke, “It’s fairly similar to before. We’ve had to shuffle some things around for the new additions, but other than quarters, it’s the same. Bucky, you’ll have unlimited access to all rooms and zones sans laboratories, records, and equipment, along with private quarters not belonging to yourself. Of course, permission can be granted by the residents of those zones.” 

Bucky stared out the window as they passed, noting how far from civilization they really were. She whistled for him and he turned to see they were turning off the stairs and down a hallway. He followed. The walls were glass and several faces stared at him as he walked. He tried to not let paranoia overwhelm him as he saw Steve smiling and waving at the people.  

“The recreation and leisure areas include a gym, pool, simulator, and a full list can be provided at request.” She continued, “The zones are simple. First letter of the majority of its purpose. Q for private quarters, L for laboratories, R for recreation and training. Maps are available at almost every intersection, but you’ll get the hang of it pretty quick.” 

They turned a corner at the third floor and Natasha used a scanner to enter a door labeled ‘zone Q’. The door opened into a large sitting area with multiple hallways. She took them down the one to the left and came to a stop in front of a door labeled ‘Captain’. 

She instructed both of them to place their hands against a pad to register them in the system then led them inside. The room was aesthetically appealing with tall ceilings and white and grey furniture; a tv, coffee table, couch. The walls were a light, stormy-blue and the floors were a sandy wood paneling. Plants and modern art decorated the otherwise dull tones with a splash of color. Green. Yellow. Hints of blue and red. The entry opened into a living room with an open layout to the kitchen and a hall leading to other doors. It made Bucky feel too open. There were too many places for someone to come from.  

“Bucky, you’ll be in with Steve until further notice.” Natasha said and glanced to Steve, “Any questions?” 

Steve answered for them, “No, I think we’re good for now.” He carried the box of Bucky’s things and set it down on the coffee table. Bucky followed, stepping behind him as he gripped his backpack and clenched his jaw. “But I’ll tell Friday if anything comes up.” 

Natasha nodded and glanced to the ceiling, “Got that?” 

Bucky’s brows furrowed.  

“Yes ma’am,” The Irish voice filtered from the ceiling and Bucky’s heart sunk to his stomach, quickening with dread as he pulled the knife from his pocket and panic blacked out his vision.  

A loud crash.  

Flinch.  

Solid at his back.  

Trembling.  

“Buck!” Steve’s voice called from far away. Bucky tried to focus. “Buck, it’s okay.” 

His eyes flickered and caught on ocean blue. Steve. Steve’s eyes. Steve was behind a plant. A plant? 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Steve said, soothing and quiet as if talking to a wild animal.  

Bucky took in a shuddering breath as he looked around to see what had happened. The potted plant by the tv had been knocked over in his panicked attempt to hide in the corner and the ceramic had shattered, spreading grey pottery and dirt across the floor. Sam stood with Natasha on the other side of the room. No one was hurt. Thank God. 

He swallowed and tried to stop the shaking in his hand as he calmed his breathing.  

“Friday,” her voice was shaky, “new protocol under Natasha Romanoff. Do not vocalize in Steve’s suite until further notice. This will also extend to any area in which James Buchanan—Bucky—Barnes is present. Notify Stark of the request.” 

Steve moved a leaf that had been blocking part of his face. “Bucky?” 

Bucky breathed in deeply then stood and stepped over the tall plant. He shook his head and pocketed the knife.  

“Come on,” Steve said, “I’ll show you your room.” 

Numbly nodding his head, Bucky followed Steve through the open space and down the hall to one of the bedrooms. When he didn’t walk past the door, Steve took his hand to guide him to the bed. When he’d sat down, Steve helped him take off his shoes and get under the covers.  

“Get some sleep, Bucky. I’ll be down the hall, if you need me.” 

Bucky didn’t respond. He stared blankly to the side until his eyes were too heavy to keep open. He slept.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not speak Russian or Romanian, so if someone does and notices an error either in spelling, translation, or grammar, let me know. Google translate can only do so much.  
> Oh, and I think I forgot last time, a bunică is a grandma or old lady.  
> Thanks for reading!  
> I will see you next time.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve closed the door quietly. Sam and Natasha were standing at the end of the hallway with expressions varying between worried and grim. Steve sighed and followed them to the kitchen.  

The elephant was in the room and no one wanted to be the one to point it out. Bucky was nowhere near as stable as he had made them believe. It wouldn't have changed Steve's decision to bring him to the compound, but it did play a role in changing some of the implementations now that he was there. Things like carrying knives, for example, would have to be addressed.  

"You know, he acted fine before now." Sam said as he shuffled through cabinets until he found a glass and pulled one out.  

"Wait a minute," Natasha's voice seeped with disapproval, "you two brought him here thinking he'd be fine after seventy years of captivity?" 

"Of course not." Steve said and sat down heavily at the bar. "But if you had just seen him. He was acting like his old self. It made it pretty easy to forget what he'd been through." 

"But he was quiet." Sam said, filling his glass from the tap. He continued after turning the water off and taking a large gulp. "Unless we goaded him into something, he didn't say much." 

"He remembered our apartment." 

"He did." Sam nodded, "I wouldn't doubt now that he was slipping into some sort of façade with you around, though." 

"Okay," Natasha said, drawing both of their attention. "So we have a slightly unstable, ex-Soviet assassin being housed in a building where there are no nearby civilians and the only possible casualties are the people who could stop him. I've seen a lot worse." 

"Sure, but the others you've seen were held at Shield for years before they were released onto grounds without constant surveillance and a full security team." Sam said and took another drink. 

"So we keep an eye on him, see what happens. His response earlier was because of a surprise, so if we try not to surprise him,—" 

"It wasn't just a surprise," Steve said, digging the pads of his fingers across his eyes, "it was panic. He was having a panic attack." 

Steve had experience his own share, enough to recognize them in someone else. Bucky had gone from tense to scrambling in the matter of a millisecond, all in response to hearing Friday's voice. It wasn't even the panic that had worried Steve,—even he had panic responses to things on occasion—it was how Bucky had sat there curled against the wall for several minutes as Steve tried to shake him out of the episode. It was the way he acted on the way to lay down—compliant, not entirely there—that had Steve wanting to tear the A.I.'s sound system out of the ceiling.  

"So what's out plan if another panic attack turns violent against someone? Can we take away the knives?" Sam asked. And that was the question, wasn't it? Could they take away security from a man that already lacked it in full? 

Natasha sighed and her head wobbled back in forth in a dance as she thought. 

"No, I don't think we can." She finally said, "Those are his possessions an it's part of what makes him feel safe. If we take them away, he won't trust us." 

"Does that mean you're taking the blame if he kills someone?" Sam asked with a smirk.  

"Not necessarily." Natasha said, "Think about it. When he panicked, pulling the knife was a stress response, but he didn't try to attack anyone. Sure he held it up, but I'd like to say he wasn't even pointing it at anyone in particular. He hid. The knife was only there as a mental reassurance. I..." She looked over to Steve, "I think it may have been partial flashback as well." 

Steve's brows furrowed and he sat up a little straighter, "How come?" 

"Well..." She hesitated as she tried to find the words, "I mean, did you notice how his metal arm kind of went limp after he'd heard Friday?" 

Steve tried to think back, "Not particularly. But, he's been avoiding using the arm since I found him." 

"No, I don't mean using his flesh hand instead, the arm went limp." She stressed, "It fell to his side and didn't make any purposeful movements at all after. Not even to stand." 

"Yeah, I remember that." Sam set his glass aside. 

Steve sighed and leaned back in his chair, "So then, what happened?" 

"I'm sure he was triggered by something back with Hydra. The way he acted—I don't think he recognized that he had the metal arm at all, which is an interesting concept in and of itself." 

"And what does this affect?" 

"I don't know," She said lightly as her lip twitched up into a smirk, "I guess we'll have to find out." 

"We can't just leave it at that." Sam said. "Someone will get hurt." 

"So then we warn everyone. Tell them what happened and what might happen and give instruction for what to do if it happens again." Natasha said, "And in the meantime, we look into how deep his memories of Hydra still go. What's still in his head." 

"What do you mean?" Steve asked.  

"Triggers. Words, phrases, smells, sounds, sights. Hydra's known for having lots of those." 

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. "From what was in those files you gave me, that could be hundreds of small triggers. It would take a lifetime to find them all." 

"Maybe." Her tone was nonchalant. "You'd do it anyway." 

She had him there. No one was about to doubt what lengths Steve Rogers would go to to help his best friend. 

"There's also the question of how many are unrelated to implementation and are developed from PTSD." Sam said. "Those could be tricky." 

"How can you tell which is which?" Steve asked.  

"Patterns mainly." Sam sighed, "I bet just now was PTSD. I've seen soldiers drop like that over car alarms and sudden noises from the vending machines at the VA." 

"What can we do about it." Steve asked. His tone had lost some of the adamant worry and gained confidence and conviction in the face of a plan.  

"Talk to him." Sam said. "At least with PTSD. I'd suggest a therapist, but seeing how well you've taken to that idea in the last two years I've known you,—" 

"I don't need a therapist, Sam." Steve sighed, annoyed by the topic already. 

Natasha sat up straighter and glanced down the hall in a trance. "But you could," 

"Oh, not you too,—" 

"No, I mean. You don't want to because it was how you were raised, and I get that. Bucky is likely gonna be the same. But—just hear me out on this—if you're in therapy, it may bridge the gap and he'll go too. He's gonna need a lot of help—the kind that we're not qualified to give." 

Steve looked at her like she had just spit in his food, then sighed. He looked down to his lap.  

"That might work, Steve." Sam said after a few moments.  

Steve looked up to Sam with an expression that displayed how tired he really was. "No therapist is gonna be qualified to deal with either of us." 

"So then we get a team." Sam said, "Stark's already said he'd foot the bill for this, we just gotta send it to his secretary.  

Steve sighed and his gaze turned toward the hall. Bucky was going to need help and it would apparently be the kind of help that he wouldn't know how to provide. It would be for Bucky. 

Steve turned back to Natasha and Sam and set his lips in a grim line. "Okay... Call 'em in." 

~~~~~ 

Bucky woke to the smell of his mother's cooking. It was reassuring enough to lull him back into sleep. The next time, he woke to the quiet call of his name and a hand on his shoulder.  

"Mmph, Steve." He mumbled into his pillow.  

Steve laughed and Bucky opened his eyes to see a much larger Steve than he'd been expecting. He blinked once, then twice, as reality came back to him.  

Steve smiled cockily, "Hungry?" 

Bucky grunted and sat up in bed. Steve was apparently waiting for him and followed Bucky out to the kitchen.  

The scent of onion soup and toasted bread filled the entire suite, sending visions of his ma's scolding when he'd come in from playing and had gotten mud on his pants. Of his sisters doing homework at the dinner table while ma cooked up the last things in the fridge—waiting for tomorrow to get handouts from the church or for pa's check to come in, even though it was already two months late.  

Ma was at the stove, Judy setting dishes.  

He blinked. 

Natasha was setting a tray of bread on the stove and Sam was setting the table.  

Bucky looked around the scene groggily. "What..." What was he trying to say? "What time is it?" He settled on. 

"About seven-thirty?" Steve guessed, leading him into the kitchen to stir at the pot on the stove.  

"Is that onion soup?" Bucky asked as he looked in the pot, even though he knew the answer by the smell.  

"Yeah. Just the canned stuff, nothing special. But we added some mushrooms to it, so it's a little fancy." 

Bucky smirked a little. "Missing ya ma?" 

Steve gave a sad smile, "Yeah, a little. Go sit down. I'll bring it over." 

They all sat at the dining table and Steve set the pot on a pad in the middle. Steve insisted on reciting a prayer and they all dug in. It was nostalgic, if not exactly as bland as he remembered. The mushrooms helped a little.  

Bucky was mid-bite when Sam elbowed Steve.  

Steve glared momentarily before speaking up. "So Buck, we were talking earlier and were gonna bring it up with you; we were just thinking about bringing in a counselor. Just for you to talk to. They might be able to help with something." 

He clenched his jaw and drug his spoon around in the soup. "I ain't talkin' to a shrink." Bucky said, blowing on a spoonful and taking another bite. 

He saw Steve look helplessly to Sam and Natasha out of the corner of his eye before Steve sighed. "I'm...I'm gonna see one." 

Bucky looked back up to him with a skeptical brow.  

"I-" Steve stuttered, "it's not like I think I'm going crazy—or that you are! There's just some things that need outside perspective before they can get better. It's stuff that my friends—family—can't help me with because they're too close to me." Steve's eye drifted to the table. "I guess, I'm just hoping to start feeling like I should." 

Bucky followed his gaze and it was several moments before he shook his head again. "I ain't talkin' to a shrink." He whispered, looking up to meet Steve's eye. Steve gave him a tense nod and a grim smile in reply. 

They continued to eat in silence and Bucky went back to sleep to kick off the jet lag after they'd cleaned up and put leftovers away.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and I'll see you next time.


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